The Secrets We Keep
by EstelRaca
Summary: Franziska and Miles watch super hero shows together two years after Miles is taken in by Von Karma.


**Author's Note:** The shows that Miles and Franziska watch here are based off of _Dekaranger_ and _Kamen Rider Blade_ , the two tokusatsu shows that were airing during the year this is set.

 _The Secrets We Keep_

Miles creeps down the stairs, being careful to skip the seventh and the fourth.

He doesn't want there to be any sound, any hint of motion that might alert Manfred von Karma to what he is doing. Not that he's really doing anything _terrible_. All he's doing is sneaking down to the entertainment room to watch his super-hero shows, which will be over about the time Von Karma usually wakes.

Miles never knows what Manfred von Karma will decide to prohibit him from doing, though, and he desperately, deeply _needs_ to be able to keep watching the shows.

He didn't watch them for two years after he was taken into the Von Karma household. It wasn't that his new mentor stopped him. It was simply impossible while they were in Europe—the television in Germany, where they spent most of their time, never had even reruns of the old shows that he liked. Miles had managed to make do, had even enjoyed many of the shows he _did_ watch while over there, and he can now speak German fluently, which he thinks is probably a good thing.

(Probably his father would be proud, but he tries hard not to think about his father—about the darkness pressing in on his vision even though the lights are still on and the heaviness in his chest as he breathes in air that might as well be water and the scream that slices through his ears. Better to just pretend he never _had_ a father, that all he has ever had is a mentor who demands perfection.)

Von Karma hadn't seemed to find Miles' fast acquisition of the language anything to be proud of. If anything he had seemed frustrated and disappointed in how little Miles understood at first, how often Miles had to ask for commands to be repeated to him in English or pantomimed. Miles had known better than to ask for any favors or coddling while he flailed about, useless and far from perfection.

(Perfection is a strange thing, a concept that is not what Miles initially thought it was. It does not seem to mean everything is right so much as everything _looks_ right, _appears_ to be right to those peering in from the outside. Perfection can be a wife who stares across the table in icy silence at her husband, who questions Miles over and over again about how he is adapting, who yanks Franziska from household to household and country to country in some strange dance with her husband that Miles can't even begin to understand. So long as no one _says_ things are broken, so long as no one _outside_ can see the tension, everything is still perfect.)

Miles' breath leaps from him in an audible hiccup of relief when he closes the door behind him. If he has been successful, if he has been quiet and calm and very lucky, he will now have an hour during which he doesn't have to worry about perfection at all.

He is too old to watch the shows, he knows. He was on the cusp of being considered too old by his peers when he left for Germany, and at twelve he should _definitely_ be mature enough not to enjoy the shows. He still _does_ , though, finds comfort and solace and sometimes something like _understanding_ for the mess his life has become in the monsters that his heroes face week after week.

(And they _win_ , they always win, sometimes at a terrible cost, but that cost is never hearing their father _scream_ in their head every night, knowing that their hands are red red _red_ with their only family's blood.)

He slept in a little too late, has missed the first five minutes of _Space Police Rangers_ , but that's all right. He's able to piece together what Ban and his fellow cops are trying to do within three minutes of turning on the television, and he watches with bated breath as they chase down the aliens that are trying to sell dream-invading technology on Earth.

He gets so caught up in the story, in fact, that it comes as a complete surprise when a soft, thickly-accented female voice demands, "What is _that_?"

Miles starts, turning toward the door, hand automatically fumbling with the remote.

Franziska von Karma has her hands crossed in front of her chest, a parody of her father's fierce stance when questioning witnesses.

"Nothing." Miles presses the button to turn off power to the television, trying not to sound too sulky as the images fade away.

"It wasn't _nothing_." Franziska takes a handful of steps into the room, pointing down at the remote. "Turn it back _on_."

"Turn it on yourself, if you want." Miles sends the remote skittering across the floor towards the girl.

Bending down, clearly trying to move gracefully despite the fact that she's in a black-and-white onesie nightgown that her mother bought for her, Franziska picks up the remote and points it at the television. She doesn't press the button, though, instead turning to look at the door. "If we want to watch something, we should put a towel or a coat under the door. Then Papa and the servants won't see the light under the door. You can also put on the CC thing—this button—and then the words show up on the screen so you can read them and keep the noise low."

Miles looks where she's pointing, though he already knows what button it will be. "That's for closed captioning. It's so deaf people will be able to still watch shows and know what's going on."

Franziska shrugs, as though she doesn't care what it's for. "Well? Are you going to just sit there, or are you going to fix the room?"

For another moment Miles hesitates. He doesn't like being ordered about by a girl less than half his age, but it's clear from the way she gives the instructions that she's done this before.

Glancing once more at the television, Miles sighs and grabs the afghan off the back of the sofa, shoving it under the door so that no light will spill out.

"Good." Franziska plops down on the floor and turns the television back on, immediately lowering the volume and triggering the closed captioning. "Now, tell me what's going _on_. What's _that_?"

"That's Doggie Kruger." Miles points to the blue-and-white dog-man currently sparring with one of the aliens. "He's the boss of the team, though he doesn't usually fight on the front lines like this."

"He's like a giant puppy." Franziska's eyes shine as she leans closer to the television.

"He's an Anubian, from the planet Anubis. All his people look like that." Miles actually technically isn't sure if that's true—if other Anubians have been shown, he hasn't caught that episode—but it seems like a reasonable assumption. "Do you know where the name Anubis comes from?"

"Yes." Franziska hesitates, lifting her left hand to her mouth and chewing on her thumb nail for a moment before glaring at him. "Though if you wanted to tell me what _you_ think it means, that would be fine."

Miles suppresses a smirk, instead gesturing to the screen. "Oh, no, I think it would be better if we paid attention to the show."

Franziska only manages to stay quiet for about ten seconds. "All right, I _don't_ know what an Anubis is. Tell me! And if it's just a funny way to say _dog_ , I'll be very cross."

"Anubis was a god in ancient Egypt—you know, the place that built the pyramids and the sphinx?" Miles forms a pyramid with his hands. He still finds himself pantomiming important nouns and verbs by reflex sometimes, and he knows that Franziska has trouble with English on occasion, German being her more common language. "They believed that he was a protector of the dead, as well as part of the weighing of souls. When someone died, Anubis was the god who was there to decide if they were a good person or not, if their soul got to go on to the afterlife or got eaten by an evil giant crocodile and destroyed forever."

"So like a judge?" Franziska's eyes are wide as she turns back to the screen. "A doggie judge. That's actually really cool."

"It is a pretty cool myth. And Doggie Kruger is a pretty cool police officer." Miles lapses into silence, eyes back on the screen, watching the action unfold.

Franziska asks lots of questions, her voice quiet but demanding.

Miles finds he doesn't mind answering them, happy to share his knowledge of the show. And when Franziska demands that he help her make a Jasmine costume for Halloween, the girl having fallen in love with the contact psychic the first time she saw her use her powers, Miles is only too happy to agree. When the ending song begins, Miles jumps to his feet, grabbing Franziska's hand and hauling her up. This being her first time seeing the dance, she doesn't do it very well, but she's giggling and he's laughing when they collapse back down to the ground at the end of it, so he figures she enjoyed it.

"I like this show." Franziska hugs her knees to her chest. "We should come watch it every morning, Miles! No, we _will_ come watch it, I'll wake you up if you're not—"

Miles shakes his head. "New episodes only come out once a week. We can watch it next week, though. And the next show's also really good—better than _Space Police_ , in my opinion."

"Hmph. We'll see." Franziska watches avidly when the commercial ends and the theme song for _Card Samurai Blade_ begins, though, her eyes round.

Miles quickly forgets that Franziska is even sitting beside him, his attention rapt on the screen and on the main character. He responds when Franziska asks him direct questions, though not always so quickly as she would like, earning several slaps to the shoulder. He ignores them, as he always ignores any strikes she gives him—she is so much smaller than him they don't really hurt, and Von Karma has made it clear enough that Franziska is his _true_ heir, his true blood, his favored daughter, and Miles should do _nothing_ to upset her.

It's silly, in a way, how _much_ the show means to Miles. It's just a children's superhero show, designed to sell toys. He _knows_ that, knows that his peers would tease him incessantly if he ever admitted that he liked it. (Not his friends—he has no friends, the connections he had Before, when he had a father and not nightmares, severed by his move to Germany, as his move back here has severed the budding connections he was making there.)

Kenzaki, the Blade Samurai, is an orphan, just like Miles is. No one seems to care, though, accepting that Kenzaki has no family as they accept that he has brown eyes. It is just one part of Kenzaki, not a failing or a mark that he is less than.

Kenzaki dreams of being in a burning building, listening to his parents scream. It is a true dream, a memory of things that happened when Kenzaki was young, when his parents died and he lived. It is the tale of how Kenzaki became an orphan, and he wakes screaming from the nightmare, tears on his cheeks. Two of his friends are there, and they don't tell Kenzaki he is being weak or silly or useless. They ask if he is all right, sympathy rather than disgust on their faces, and then move on with the plot.

(Miles hugs his knees, as he has every other time that Kenzaki has had a nightmare-flashback, feeling his whole body shiver. Franziska watches him, her head tilted to the side, and though she doesn't say anything, her hand is gentle this time when it pats his shoulder.)

The show ends on a cliff-hanger, Kenzaki facing off against the Chalice Samurai, his best friend but also, by the rules of the show, his necessary enemy. Miles and Franziska both groan as the credits roll, not wanting to have to wait a week to see how the plot will be resolved.

(It is another thing Miles likes about Kenzaki—Kenzaki has no girlfriend, seems to have no desire for a girlfriend just like Miles, and there is an _intensity_ to his relationship with the Chalice Samurai that Miles finds deeply appealing, though he has no words to say _why_ yet.)

"Hmmm." Franziska crosses her arms in front of her chest again, chin tilted up. "I liked that one, too, but I don't think it's as good as the Space Police."

"Oh?" Miles pokes the girl in the shoulder. "Why not? I think it's _better—_ the plot's a lot more complicated, and the special effects are really cool."

"There weren't any _girls_." Franziska huffs out a breath. "Why are all the Samurai _boys_? Shouldn't a few be girls?"

"But they're fighting all by themselves. It makes more sense for them to be boys. It's harder for— _ow_!" Miles lifts a hand to his stinging cheek.

Franziska glares up at him, her eyes somehow both hard as ice and shimmering with tears. "It _doesn't_ make sense. Girls can be _just_ as tough as boys. If _I_ were in their world, _I'd_ be a Samurai, and no one could stop me."

Miles draws a breath, intending to continue arguing. Then he remembers how eager and excited Franziska had been at seeing Jasmine, both with her own powers and fighting with the rest of the Space Police, and he reconsiders. He really likes Kenzaki, can see pieces of himself in the Blade Samurai. Why should it be any different for Franziska? "You're right. It's silly that there's no girls. Maybe there will be. Kenzaki has a really cool girl friend who does science for him. Maybe she'll become a Samurai, too. Or maybe there'll be a different show with a girl for a lead."

"Yes." Franziska smiles again as she turns the television back to the news station where her father usually leaves it, turns off the closed captioning, and turns off the power. "I like that idea. It'll be a girl Samurai, and she'll be the best fighter of the bunch. And she'll be a princess, because princesses are super cool and can tell other people what to do, so she can tell everyone to fight the bad guys."

Miles suppresses a smile. "I'm pretty sure everyone will want to fight the bad guys anyway, because they're bad guys."

"But you have to have someone tell you who the bad guys are first, right? Like a prosecutor does. So the Samurai Princess can be like a prosecutor, just like the Anubian doggie's like a judge!" Franziska claps her hands together, lost in her dream show.

Miles glances at the clock. "We should go grab some books. Your dad'll be up soon, and I don't want him seeing what we were doing."

Franziska sobers immediately. "Why? You don't think Papa will like the shows?"

"I..." Miles hesitates. "There's a lot of people who think they're silly. Because they show the bad guys so obviously, and because of all the explosions and everything. I don't know if your dad would think that and not want us to watch them."

"But they're _awesome_!" Franziska waves her hands above her head. " _Boom!_ Who doesn't want to make the bad guys explode?"

Miles smiles, face flushing. Franziska is young enough that it's okay for her to like the shows. It really shouldn't make him feel so much better that she does. Not that he ever plans on not watching them—even if others think it's silly, _he_ likes it, and that's all that really matters, in the end. "What do you think? Do you think your dad would let us watch them?"

After a few seconds' deliberate considering, Franziska takes his hand and pulls him toward the library. Slipping into German, she grins at him. "I think it shouldn't matter. I think we should watch what we want. And if someone finds out, I'll just tell them not to worry, that I'll keep my little brother from getting confused about whether he can really explode the bad guys or not."

"Your..." Miles stumbles, his tongue tangling on the two languages as his feet somehow manage to trip over each other. Franziska has never called him her brother before, and it makes Miles' chest ache in a strange way. Then he realizes the adjective she put with the familial relationship, and gives her arm a sharp tug. "Hey, I'm a lot bigger and older than you!"

"Nope." Franziska shakes her head. "You've only been a Von Karma for two years, where _I've_ been one for five. You're definitely my little brother, so it's all right for us to watch the shows together."

"That doesn't..." Miles sputters, once more caught between joy—she just said _he_ is a Von Karma, is part of a _family_ , where Miles' mentor has only ever acted as though he is a burden and a mistake—and frustration. "You don't start counting age from the time you become a Von Karma."

"Sure you do. If it's not perfect, it's not worthwhile, and if it's not a Von Karma, it's not perfect." Franziska continues to lead the way to the library.

"Franziska!"

Both Miles and Franziska stop cold, not even flinching, every muscle suddenly freezing at the unexpected voice.

Manfred von Karma walks down the stairs with stately grace, his cane tapping on each step. He is already dressed, pristine and proper for the day. "What language was that, Franziska?"

Franziska releases Miles' hand, straightening her back, though her head stays low. "De—... German, Father."

"Are we in Germany right now, girl?" Manfred von Karma frowns down at his daughter.

Miles tries to blend into the carpeting, hoping that he will not be questioned, as well.

"No, sir." Franziska's lip trembles, but she doesn't cry.

"What language are you supposed to use here?"

Franziska swallows. "English, sir."

"Correct. If I catch you using the wrong one again, there'll be no dinner for you." Von Karma's eyes flick from Franziska to Miles. "Franziska, I want you to practice reading in English. Continue on with the F section of the dictionary, from where you left off before. Miles, you will help her with pronunciation. Then you'll both move on to Latin, where I expect you will, once again, outperform Miles, my dear."

"Yes, papa." Franziska grabs Miles by the wrist, her grip firmer and harder. "Come on. Let's get to it."

Miles follows Franziska, inclining his head to Manfred von Karma as he sidles past.

They spend the next hour in the library, and Miles helps Franziska with her pronunciation as much as he can. They get caught on _fool_ , Franziska rolling it over and over in her mouth, giggling more each time she says it. Miles starts listing off all the potential permutations of fool—foolish, foolhardy, foolishness, foolproof, foolscap. Franziska mimics him, clapping a hand to her mouth after every word to stifle her giggles.

It's a fair enough way to pass time, and Miles is smiling when Von Karma dismisses them both, telling them to dress appropriately and meet him for breakfast in the main dining room.

Franziska grabs his hand before he can turn into his room, eyes darting left and right before she whispers out, in the German she is not supposed to use here, "Next week?"

Miles nods, answering her in the same language. "Next week. Same time."

That's all the planning they dare to do, but the excitement it brings sustains Miles through the frustrating day that follows, and for that he is grateful.

XXX

They watch the rest of both series together.

They don't get to watch every episode. Sometimes there are weeks they cannot make it to the television; sometimes there are weeks one can and one can't. Those times it is the responsibility of the one who watched to explain to their sibling what happened.

They laugh together, in a way that they rarely can during their lessons, Manfred von Karma disapproving of mirth, his narrowed eyes enough to still them both.

They dance together, Franziska throwing her body up and down, side to side, not graceful but energetic and _happy_ in a way Miles rarely sees.

They debate who is the best hero, which is the better series, though they know they will not be able to change the other's mind.

(They comfort each other, when there is need. Miles settles Franziska in his lap, holds her and doesn't mention that he sees the tears in her eyes when they watch the flashback where Jasmine almost chooses death over having to live with her gift. He whispers to the girl on the screen and the girl in his lap that it's all right to feel emotion from others, that it's all right to hurt when others have hurt, that there are ways to draw distinctions between yourself and the outside world that don't entail denying the feelings of yourself or others. He doesn't think any of them really believe it, but Franziska stops crying, her small fists buried in his shirt, and perhaps that's enough.

Franziska stands behind him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as they shake while he cries quietly into his hands at the end of _Blade_. To give up your humanity for a friend... to give up talking to someone you care about in order to save their life... would he have the strength to do that? Is he _doing_ that, becoming the man that Manfred von Karma wants him to be, abandoning the person he had once dreamed of being?

"It's okay, Miles." Franziska's voice whispers in his ear. "I have you, little brother, and everything will be okay."

It can't be, not really, Miles knows that, Franziska knows that, but for an hour every week, at least, they are able to believe it.)

When the season is over Miles continues to watch the new superhero shows that replace it. Franziska does, too, but she finds the _Singing Oni Ninja_ series boring, and she seems to get _angry_ at the easy family dynamic the siblings of _Magic Rangers_ have. Eventually she stops coming down to watch the shows with him, starts acting bored when he tries to explain what's happened to her, and he allows their shared passion to fade away.

She never teases him for continuing to watch the shows, though.

She never tells her father what he's doing.

She still calls him _little brother_ , sometimes in endearment, sometimes, especially when her father is grilling them both, as taunt.

Miles never tells her to stop, as she never tells him to stop watching the shows.

Some things are important to survival, and the two of them are _going_ to survive, perfection incarnate, no matter the cost.


End file.
